


The Blood Drinker's Burial

by SlimyRat



Category: Original Work
Genre: Funeral, Gen, Poetry, Spooky, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:15:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27333268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimyRat/pseuds/SlimyRat
Summary: A short story in verse for Halloween.





	The Blood Drinker's Burial

The church bell tolls, 'tis five o' clock  
The autumn dusk approaches fast,  
And nervous eyes are westward cast,  
A-counting down the sun's descent.  
Beneath their burden, backs are bent,  
As on the Chapel door they knock.

An ancient priest, righteous and stern,  
Answers, glares, and bids them go,  
To all their pleading, still cries 'no!'  
Their pine-box cargo shall not find  
Its rest in consecrated ground.  
So take it hence, and ne'er return!

A father's tear-tracked face grows red,  
Advances, voice and fist both raised,  
Into the house where God is praised,  
All stare, all shocked, the pine-box slips,  
And strikes the flagstone floor, wood splits,  
The lid falls free, reveals the dead.

Still, unbreathing, yet back they tread,  
From that small corpse, that's long since cold,  
A pretty sylph, but twelve years old,  
That's seems just sleeping, save her lips,  
Red stained, display her teeth's sharp tips,  
That from her baby brother fed.

Six little corpses, one by one,  
In this last month were laid to rest,  
And grief floods through the priest's old breast,  
He spoke the rites o'er each lost lamb,  
He speaks now not to bless, but damn.  
Says “Take that cursed thing. Begone!”

'Tis almost night. The mourners take  
Their cargo far from sacred ground,  
A burial place must still be found.  
The sun goes down, they do not see,  
Enshadowed by a sheltering tree.  
The body stirs and, hungry, wakes!


End file.
